


if you wanna be my baby (know i'm gonna drive you mad)

by HailTheHood



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Crazy reader, F/M, Graphic Description, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jerome Valeska Lives, Jerome Valeska is Bad at Flirting, Kissing, Minor Bruce Wayne/Reader - Freeform, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Female Character, Possessive Jeremiah Valeska, Possessive Jerome Valeska, Post-Death Jerome Valeska, Post-Laughing Toxin Jeremiah Valeska, Pre-Death Jerome Valeska, Pre-Laughing Toxin Jeremiah Valeska, Pregnant Reader, Protective Jeremiah Valeska, Sexual Tension, Soft Jerome Valeska, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valeska Triplets, Valeska Twins/Reader, Young Love, criminals in love, song titles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailTheHood/pseuds/HailTheHood
Summary: Oneshots starring Jerome Valeska and/or Jeremiah Valeska. Relationships between characters may vary. May contain episode spoilers, scenes and quotes of the TV show "Gotham". THESE ARE FEM!READER ONESHOTS. MALE!READER ONESHOTS ARE NEXT IN THE SERIES
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska/Reader, Jeremiah Valeska/Reader, Jerome Valeska/Reader, minor Bruce Wayne/reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 101





	1. Jerome x fem!reader: Sit Still, Look Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, I don't know what you've been told  
But this gal right here's gonna rule the world  
Yeah, that is where I'm gonna be because I wanna be  
No, I don't wanna sit still, look pretty."

"Prepare to die!" yelled Jerome, followed by the deafening sound of a chainsaw whirring to life. Greenwood chortled, imitating the saw's buzzing, and Jerome lunged. Metal against metal screeched and filled the room. The two were acting quite like idiotic children.

"That's enough!" The commotion brought Theo Galavan into the room, his usual prim and proper rich-guy self. Jerome turned the chainsaw off and stepped away from Greenwood.

"_I_ tried to stop them," said Dobkins, rocking back and forth on the ground as he pointed at the boys accusingly.

Galavan approached the two, clasping one hand on each of their shoulders. "Boys, we're a team. We don't fight amongst ourselves."

"Yeah, we're a team, boys." Dobkins seemed half interested as he adjusted the vintage war helmet on his head.

"And I'm the _captain_." Greenwood smirked at Jerome, balancing the katana over his shoulders.

Jerome dropped the chainsaw, which landed with a hard thump, and glowered at Greenwood unblinkingly. It was a death glare, something a normal person would be petrified to see, let alone be the centre of attention. "Captain of my foot."

"I've murdered a dozen women, terrorized the city," boasted Greenwood, never once looking away from Jerome. He wasn't afraid of the redhead, not yet anyway. "What have you done? Chop your mommy?"

"Everyone has to start somewhere." Jerome's voice was a low, threatening whisper. Still, he sounded a little ashamed that he only killed his mother. "See, I have vision, and ambition, and brains. You're just a nutty ol' cannibal." He laughed, leaning in as much as Galavan's hand would allow. "How many people can you eat before that shtick gets old?"

"I could eat one more."

Galavan cut in, calm and collected. "I can see we're going to have to resolve this one, once and for all." He pulled out a silver revolver, emptying the spinning chamber of all its bullets but one. "You all know this game, right?"

Jerome nodded, his expression serious but holding back something. The glint in his eye was dangerous: the look of a man that sought any chance to hurt another. The look of a man that didn't fear staring death in the face. "Oh, love it."

"Who wants to be the boss?" Galavan offered the gun to them, handle first.

"I want in."

(Y/N) strode into the room, arms crossed over her chest. Her entrance snatched all their attention, as she wasn't even supposed to be anywhere near the action yet. Galavan had told her to wait with Barbara and Tabitha until 'it was their time'. Well, she was done waiting.

"(Y/N), why aren't you–" started Galavan.

"I don’t wanna sit still, lookin’ pretty, Theo. I ain’t some Barbie girl, you know. I’m never gonna be. I want to get out there, I want action, I want to wreak havoc in Gotham," said (Y/N) firmly, both her tone and words indicating she wasn't going to take no for an answer. She threw a look, rather distinctively, at Jerome and the corner of her lip ticked into a mimicry of a half-smile. "_I_ want to be the boss."

After a pause of thinking, Galavan regained his composure and spoke. "Very well."

She joined them in a semi-circle around the revolver, standing closer to Jerome than to Greenwood. Jerome smirked, looking across to Greenwood. "Ladies first."

(Y/N) watched Greenwood carefully as he took the gun, smirking at the way his hand shook as he loaded it and brought it to his temple. Even when he pulled the trigger – an empty click and no gunshot – he flinched but managed to grit his forced teeth in a smile. That was comical to both Jerome and (Y/N). He offered it to Jerome, a leer present on his face now that it wasn't his turn. The redhead took it, a small but truly genuine smile gracing his lips.

"Hey Greenwood, what's the secret to good comedy?" Jerome held the revolver to his temple, just below his bright ginger hair, and, unflinchingly, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, only an empty click. "Timing. And what's courage?" He switched to the next slot, pressed the barrel to his cheek and fired- nothing. "Grace under pressure. And who's the boss?"

He fired an empty slot into his chin, making himself smirk wider and Greenwood flinch.

"Hold up there. We're not done yet, Valeska," said (Y/N) with a slight grin. She wriggled her fingers in his direction, gesturing for him to hand over the revolver

Without hesitation, which Jerome found just... _wow_, she took the gun off him and held it to carelessly to her own temple. (Y/N) knew a revolver only six shots and the boys had used up four. That's two slots left, one of which had the single bullet, but she wasn't afraid. What was the point of life if there wasn’t a bit of risk, if you didn't live on the edge a little? If anything, she was excited.

She turned her head to make firm eye contact with Jerome, (E/C) eyes holding his dark ones, as she held the revolver to her temple as if it posed no threat. As if it didn't hold the very real chance of blowing her head in. "You see, Jerome, the face of adversity reveals who you _really_ are, kinda introduces you to yourself. In times like that, it's important to... smile."

The corners of her lips pulled easily into a mischievous, scarily sincere smile and her finger squeezed the trigger. The empty click didn't even make (Y/N) wince. _That’s five._

(Y/N) still held Jerome's gaze, the smile never wavering, as she loaded the revolver again with a flick of her thumb and pressed it against her (H/C) locks. Jerome was almost gaping at the sight, completely and totally mesmerized by her. By her face, her beauty, _her insanity. _It was the most beautiful thing he's probably ever seen. It satisfied the dark twisted thing inside of him, his own consuming sanity, in a way he hadn't felt since he slaughtered his whore of a mother. 

"Stop, that's enough," said Galavan, his hand out to interrupt her. Her finger still lingered over the trigger as her head snapped to Theo. To Jerome's disappointment, her smile dropped. "My apologies, (Y/N), Jerome will be the leader of the Maniax. But you have proven yourself to join the boys in the field."

(Y/N) huffed, her expression switching from a pout to irritation, and she shoved the gun in Jerome's direction and let go before he had the chance to grab it. The redhead still managed to catch it, fumbling with it before clutching it to his chest. "Ugh, fine. Good enough, I guess. I'm going to go find Babs." She turned on her heel and stalked out the door.

"Ooh, someone's mad," muttered Dobkins to himself between giggles.

Galavan took the revolver from Jerome, saying something to him about being the boss. It should have brought him a sensation of pride; Jerome beat Greenwood like he wanted to, proved just how far gone his sanity was. But Jerome wasn't listening to him the slightest. He couldn't keep himself from looking back at the door that (Y/N) had left through. _Lucky Barbara_, he thought distantly. All that occupied his mind was (Y/N)'s beautiful insane smile and her death-defying stunt. Not that Jerome wasn't already sold to his insanity, but she made lunacy look good. Like an angel with blood on her wings. 

He certainly wouldn't mind getting to know her better.


	2. Jeremiah x fem!reader: Toxic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm addicted to you  
Don't you know that you're toxic?  
And I love what you do  
Don't you know that you're toxic?"

(Y/N) suddenly felt very cold as she walked into the lobby of Arkham Asylum. The entire place gave her the chills, literal and figurative. This was the home of the insane, after all. Rumors on the streets said some shady stuff went down here, under the watchful eye of Hugo Strange. It even had an evil aura, like something you’d feel in an abandoned house or a dark graveyard. She told herself that she had every reason to be weary.

She approached the guard standing at the gate, wrapping her (F/C) coat tighter around her body from the cold. She couldn’t – really, really didn’t want to – imagine life as an inmate here. She had heard of the terrible conditions, not to mention the rumors of exactly what went down behind closed doors with the patients. No amount of donated money from Bruce Wayne could fix it, not by a long shot. 

"I'm here to see Jeremiah Valeska," she said.

"You a cop?" he asked, looking her up and down.

"No."

"Then why do you want to see the crazy bastard?”

(Y/N) bit back a snide insult and grit her teeth behind closed lips. She already hated this guy. "Not that's any of your business, I'm his girlfriend."

“For real?” The guard eyed her suspiciously and mumbled something under his breath as he took his radio and brought it to his mouth. "Visitor for Valeska, get him ready."

"Thank you," (Y/N) said coldly, not at all meaning it, as the gate buzzed and opened for her.

\---

The guard showed her to the visitation block, and (Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her boyfriend.

Of course, she had seen him with his new complexion but it still surprised her how much he had changed since he was sprayed with Jerome’s concoction. Did she miss his old look, the one he claimed was simply a mask of his true self – the red hair, the glasses? Hm, the jury's still out. Unnaturally pale skin, green hair, bright grey pupils instead of their usual coffee brown. He looked tired, so very tired.

"Miah?" asked (Y/N) softly, as if not to startle him.

Jeremiah's head shot up instantly. "(Y/N)... I thought you were James Gordon."

She took a seat opposite the table from him. “Why would Gordon come here?” Just saying the police captain’s name made the pit of (Y/N)’s stomach burn with anger. The bastard should have been blown to bits in Jeremiah’s bunker. It was his fault Jeremiah was here, locked up in this hell house.

“He’s still trying to interrogate me for any excess plans I have for Gotham. His efforts have been futile, as you can guess.” Jeremiah smirked, his red lips almost mirroring his brother’s. It was an extremely unsettling change from his old look – the combed red hair and glasses she fell in love with. (Y/N) never did like Jerome, despite him being Jeremiah's identical twin.

“But you don’t have any more plans,” said (Y/N), though she sounded very uncertain. Angry, raw emotion flushed over her at the thought of him keeping things from her. She looked him in the eye, silently begging him to talk to her, tell her more. “Miah, please.”

Jeremiah shook his head, smiling softly. “(Y/N), my plans don't concern you. Please understand that you nor the police can keep me from carrying out my purpose. I'm just doing what's best for Gotham.”

“Stop you?” asked (Y/N), her (E/C) eyes widening in disbelief. Her shock was genuine. “You think I want to stop you? Miah, I’m your damn girlfriend and I…” _just want to be part of it, to be with you._ But her breath caught. “I love you, okay? If anything, I want to be involved. Surely I can be of aid to you in some shape or form."

Jeremiah reached across the table and took her hand into his slim pale one, brushing light butterfly kisses on her knuckles. The simple touch made (Y/N) feel lightheaded.

“I’m sorry, my darling. I cannot allow you to get entangled in my web any further. Our relationship is ruining your life,” whispered Jeremiah as he looked at her with a heart-melting sense of adoration. He pulled his hands away and when he spoke again, his voice was pained. “This visit is over, (Y/N). Leave, and please don’t come back again.”

A hollowing feeling hit her hard in the gut and (Y/N) was pretty sure she felt her heart shatter into a million sad pieces. She didn’t say anything else as she got up from the chair and strode out the door. (Y/N) could feel Jeremiah’s eyes boring into her as she left. Only when she reached the front of the facility did she let the tears fall.

_Jeremiah just broke up with me_, she thought to herself. _We’re done, it’s over_.

But very quickly, that sadness was replaced by a new emotion. An unfamiliar yet delicious emotion. An odd blend of pure rage and pain. Something terrible, something dark, something oh, so freeing. A new voice, one that certainly wasn’t her own, popped into her head.

_He didn’t want to, though, did he?_

(Y/N) realised the important part of her conversation with Jeremiah. He pushed her away because he wanted to keep her safe, protect her life from his, keep her out of his plans. All because he loved (Y/N). He thought he was toxic. That he was an addiction she needed to drop for her own good.

But he wasn’t, (Y/N) knew that. Nothing would make her think of Jeremiah as otherwise. Nothing, no matter what he did and who he hurt. Despite everything, she loved what he did. People may have seen him as some horrible monster, but not her. Never her. She knew what she was going to do.

(Y/F/N) was going to break Jeremiah Valeska out of Arkham Asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share your thoughts and suggestions!


	3. Jerome x fem!reader: bad guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So you're a tough guy  
Like it really rough guy  
Just can't get enough guy  
Chest always so puffed guy  
I'm that bad type  
Make your mama sad type  
Make your girlfriend mad tight  
Might seduce your dad type  
I'm the bad guy, duh"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This oneshot has explicit gory details, mentions trigger addictions, and contains a lot of swearing.

_(Y/N)’s eyes were glued to her TV screen in horror, her brain unable to register what she saw: Theo Galavan with a knife deep in Jerome’s neck. She watched her boyfriend, still dressed in that stupid magician’s outfit, die on the stage. His lips pulled into the insane smile that she loved so much._

_Jerome is dead._

_(Y/N) dropped down onto the couch, not trusting herself to stand. Tears rolled down her face and she just felt numb. She picked up the remote and threw it at the TV, leaving a dent on the screen, and let out a broken scream. _

_Everyone had their ways of mourning a loss, had their own coping mechanisms, dealt with things in different ways. Some drank, some cried all day, some stuck needles in their arms, some bleed through their misery, some took it out on innocent others. With what (Y/N) was going through… she didn’t know how else to handle it but with violence. She fell into a blind rage and trashed the apartment that she and Jerome once shared. _

_But he wasn’t coming home. _

_When she couldn’t find the strength in her to do any further damage – not that there was much more she could break – to the place she used to call home, (Y/N) slid down one of the walls and hugged her knees tight to her chest. _

_She was oh, so tempted to pop open a bottle of whiskey and down it in the kitchen. Maybe two, just to get shitfaced and wasted to dull the pain and aching in her core and her very soul. Alas, she couldn’t. _

_Across the room, on the floor near the flipped coffee table, were scattered pregnancy tests. (Y/N) had to check four times to be certain of the result: she was indeed pregnant. She was going to tell him when he got home from that Children’s Hospital charity gala. _

_“What am I gonna do?” she whispered to no one in particular._

\---

She turned to crime. (Y/F/N) gave in to her urges to bruise skin, break bones, and draw blood long ago. She did it in honor of Jerome. He always used to ask her when she’d take someone’s life, would encourage her to, but she told him to be patient. She only wished that she had killed someone at a time when he’d be alive to see it. He’d be so proud of her now.

It was easy enough to convince Jerome’s newfound crazed cultist goons to follow her, as they were well aware that she was their beloved messiah’s girlfriend. Most of them were more than willing to bow to her. There was a small group – one guy in particular – that defied her, said that she was nothing but a golddigger and a no-good whore like Jerome’s mother. _Like Lila fucking Valeska. _Well, no one dared to speak up like that again after (Y/N) sawed his tongue out, carved ‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’ into his chest and strung him up with a noose.

With that one powerplay, (Y/N) had both wiped out any competition and proven that she was more than callous enough to take Jerome’s place. Two birds with one stone.

Now she was known to the GCPD and the entirety of Gotham’s criminal underworld. They called her ‘the Clown Princess’, because of the jester-like face paint she donned. That, too, was a tribute to her dear Jerome, as his people called him ‘Joker’ even after death. His legacy wasn’t going to be forgotten anytime soon by the Gothamites, not if (Y/N) could help it. Jerome’s memory lived on in her and his loyal cult of wackos.

No one knew she was pregnant, not even her closest follower. It didn’t dawn on anyone and no one had the guts to ask why she was putting on weight. She had been lucky enough to be able to keep her escalating symptoms behind closed doors. Yet that didn’t keep her from wreaking havoc upon Gotham, upfront and in person, not at all.

But then the nine months were up, and she gave birth to her child.

Luckily for (Y/N), Dr. Lee Thompkins happened to be a good friend of hers before she started dating Jerome, and was willing to put aside their ethical differences to ensure a healthy delivery. It was the most painful eight hours of (Y/N)’s life; it easily topped Jerome’s death despite (Y/N) insisting to Lee that ‘nothing hurt more than the loss of true love’. Childbirth _definitely_ hurts more.

Regardless, taking that tiny, frail thing in her arms… it made everything worth it. It was a beautiful (boy/girl) and (Y/N) fell in love with (him/her) at first sight. She actually cried, becoming a blubbering mess as she held her child close and thanked Lee over and over.

It wasn’t a difficult decision to withdraw a little from her cult and criminal life to be a mother to the baby. The only time she took off her face paint was for her child and, as time went on, she saw Jerome’s physical features coming through. It only made her more determined to protect (him/her) with everything in her arsenal. _Those eyes, that smile, I see you in our baby, my love_. _I wonder if (he/she) laughs like you too._

You can bet that the news spread across the underworld: The Clown Princess had a baby (boy/girl), a new weak link to exploit.

They would quickly learn that wasn’t the case.

“Just because I’m a mother now–” snarled (Y/N), twisting the dagger and digging it further into the arm of a gang assassin before ripping it out. “–does not mean I won’t kill. Doesn’t make me any softer. It’s _simply hilarious_ that you pea-brained idiots would assume so, don’t cha think? Go on, get lost. Shoo! Tell Mister Bossman that if this happens again, I’ll cut off your dick and shove it down his throat!”

In other words, Jerome and (Y/N)’s baby was never touched. Kingpins like Penguin and Barbara Kean didn’t treat her any differently, didn’t change how they acted around her aside from the occasional ‘how’s the baby?’, so the other mob bosses held (Y/N) in the same light.

One specific late night, (Y/N) woke in her condo to a melodious knocking that rung out through the entire place. That alone was especially strange since literally no one of high regard – except Lee, of course – to (Y/N) knew where she lived.

(Y/N) grabbed the loaded revolver from under her pillow and crept to the door without a sound. It could be anyone, and she had the means to hide a body right in her home. She peeked through the door’s peephole, only to find that it had been blocked on the other end.

She was _so_ not putting up with this.

Finger squeezing the trigger of the gun, (Y/N) yanked the door open with her free hand and fixed her aim on whoever was standing on the other side–

“_Hey_, _babe_~”

(Y/N) froze, (E/C) eyes staring at the voice’s owner in complete and total disbelief. It was none other than Jerome Valeska, sporting a stolen GCPD uniform and a police cap with his red hair spilling out. When he looked up to meet her gaze, her gut churned at the sight of his _face_. Mangled and rough, as if cut right off, and literally stapled back into place. His lips were pulled into a permanent smile.

“What the fuck- Jerome?!” demanded (Y/N), still keeping the gun aloft.

“Damn, you look good. The glow of murder on you, darlin’?” Jerome gave a bark of a laugh, raising his hand to push the door aside. “How about me, huh? Still the redhead you know and love, but–”

(Y/N) pushed back on the door, stopping his efforts. “Hold your horses. You’re not doing shit until you explain yourself, right the fuck now. You’re supposed to be dead. Me and all of Gotham watched Galavan _stab_ you, and you rock up looking like roadkill!”

“Wow, baby doll. That was harsh. You’re gonna hurt my feelings,” said Jerome with a chuckle.

“Fuck your feelings.”

“Ooh, you’re so feisty now. I can get into that,” Jerome purred. His voice was definitely more gravelly than (Y/N) remembered. “How ‘bout you let me inside?”

The thing is, he wasn’t asking anymore. (Y/N) could hear it in his voice, in his tone. Of course, she should have expected that didn’t Jerome make the effort to come all the way down to her apartment just to be locked out. He suddenly shoved his weight against the door and prised it open, almost knocking (Y/N) to the floor. Bare feet scrambling underneath her, she stumbled and dropped the gun.

“Oh–!” Her body collided with the floor. She leaned forward on her elbows and glared up at Jerome. “Hey, fuck you! Son of a bitch.”

“True. But you _love_ it.” Jerome swooped down on (Y/N), settling himself on her legs. He loomed over her, trapping (Y/N) under his body with his hands on either side of her head. All she could see was him and his grotesque face.

“Sweet tapdancing Jesus, what happened to you, Jerome?” (Y/N) braced her palms on his chest, keeping him from leaning in any closer. That didn’t stop him from pushing.

“Death happened, darlin’. Woke up in the GCPD and you can bet I was confuddled! Apparently, some overeager fanboy cut the face off my rotting corpse because he wanted to be me. Paraded around wearing it like a mask, can you believe it? Well, he’s dead now.” He giggled childishly. “Ka-boom! Oh, and don’t worry about filling me in, doll. I had Jimbo’s doctor lady friend tell me everything, though she didn’t seem to know too much about you...”

“Lee? Lee Thompkins? Please tell me you didn’t kill her, Jerome,” said (Y/N). Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, (Y/N) genuinely cared about Lee. She helped (Y/N) throughout her pregnancy and delivered her baby when she had no one. All while she was mourning the loss of her husband. Lee was a truly good person, probably the only good person in Gotham; she didn’t deserve to be murdered.

But there was one thing (Y/N) knew for sure. Lee didn’t tell Jerome about the baby, didn’t tell him about her pregnancy. Still, that just meant (Y/N) had to tell Jerome herself. How would he even _feel_ about it? Did he even think about being a father?

“Nah. You and her used to be bosom buddies, didn’t ya? I didn’t wanna risk, ha, pissing you off before we had this reunion. Isn’t it poetic? Two estranged lovers, separated by death, are united once again,” said Jerome, almost dreamily. (Y/N)’s heart jolted at his words. “It’s a lovely surprise to hear that my darlin’ picked up where I left off. I heard what you’ve done. They fear you, gorgeous.”

“I know, and they should. I’m a scary girl. I’ve got you to thank for that,” she replied.

Jerome hummed. “Mm, I think this is all you. But lemme see this…”

(Y/N) went rigid under him, watching his eyes and his _face_, as Jerome reached over her head and grabbed something. By the clattering of metal on wood, (Y/N) knew it was her revolver. Silver and sleek with specks of dried blood on the frame. _(Y/F/N)_ was engraved into the barrel in fancy cursive. He moved back and showed it to her, grinning.

“Pretty gun for a pretty girl. Were you really gonna shoot me with this?” he asked, twirling it around his index finger.

“I didn’t know it was you, J. Anyone else, and the hall would have been decorated with their brains. No one wakes me up this early and lives to tell the tale.”

That made Jerome cackle, and it was so welcome to (Y/N) that she wanted to join in. “But seriously, is this thing even loaded–”

BANG!

Her gun went off, a single bullet leaving a dent in her apartment wall. It was loud and rang out across the rooms. It wasn’t the fact that Jerome had just fired a revolve near her head or that he used one in just her presence. The worst part? Well, she had a baby (boy/girl) sleeping in the next room.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the inevitable that was her child’s cries. One of her hands gripped Jerome’s arm, as if trying to calm him because he’d be angry. For sure.

And there it was. A loud, constant wailing.

When she cracked her eyelids open, just to peek at Jerome’s expression, she only held his sleeve tighter and tugged at it. Of course, she knew it wasn’t enough. Jerome tugged himself free before pushing back to his feet.

He didn’t say anything. Not a word. And he wasn’t smiling anymore, which scared (Y/N) the most. Jerome was always smiling. He smiled while he played Russian Roulette, smiled while he murdered his parents, even smiled while he died. (Y/N) didn’t know this man to stop.

“Jerome. Jerome, wait.” But he wasn’t listening to her. It was as if she wasn’t there at all. He made a beeline for the baby’s room, where her – their, their, _their_ – (son/daughter) was wailing for attention. (Y/N) scrambled after him. When he reached the door, Jerome practically broke it down. (Y/N) was still calling after him. “Hey, listen to me! Jerome, stop!”

No. Such. Luck.

When (Y/N) finally caught up to Jerome, he was standing beside the baby’s crib. He was fuming, probably the angriest (Y/N) has seen from him ever. His hand was clenched around (Y/N)’s revolver.

“Whose kid is this, doll face? Yours?” Jerome’s voice, unlike his expression, was deadly calm. A deadly calm was a million times worse than blind rage, especially from Jerome.

(Y/N) held out her hand, reaching for her gun. “Yes, but Jerome, I can explain–”

“So it is. How old is (he/she), huh? How long did you wait to fuck another guy after I kicked the bucket, (Y/N)? One month, two?” said Jerome, his tone rising and his voice getting even more gruff. He was working himself into a dark fury. Still, (Y/N) knew it was more sadness and betrayal than actual hate. “Who’s the father? Because I’ll track him down and I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

When (Y/N) opened her mouth to attempt to calm him, to explain, her baby screamed even louder at the commotion that was Jerome. Despite herself, (Y/N) smirked lightly at the idea that she had to coddle _two_ children. (Y/N) pushed past Jerome to the crib and leaned down, scooping up the bundle of blankets.

“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” she cooed, bouncing the baby in her arms. She brought her lips to the child’s forehead, humming the tune of _Pop Goes The Weasel_ before she looked up to meet Jerome’s emotion-clouded gaze. He was watching intently, gun still grasped in his hand. But (Y/N) was fairly – about 75% – sure that he wasn’t going to use it. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“I didn’t cheat on you, Jerome. I haven’t been with anyone since you died. Just me, myself, and I. Granted, people tried… and died trying.” She let out a quiet chuckle, amused with her own joke when she remembered the nights she spent in bars and clubs in her earlier pregnancy days. Guys tried to pick her up, flirt with her and bring her home. Some just wouldn’t take no for an answer. She smiled fondly at the memory that time a drunk deadbeat followed her to her car, and she shot him dead right there and then.

She could almost hear the gears grinding away in Jerome’s head as he put two and two together.

“(Y/N), when did you know? That you were…” He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence. This was, without a doubt, the most serious (Y/N) had ever seen Jerome be. It was sincere.

“I found out the day you died. I wanted it to be a surprise for when you finished with Galavan’s crap. I was going to tell you when you came home… but you never did. I watched the whole thing, Jerome. I watched the love of my life and the father of my unborn child die, by the hand of a man you trusted. I wanted to feel his skull be _crushed under my foot_.”

A single tear dribbled down (Y/N)’s cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It was like she all that pain was washing over her again. Ha, she probably should have accepted Lee’s therapy session. She had some serious issues to get over. Probably, definitely, most likely, really should be thrown in Arkham. Oh, well.

Then she felt warm, familiar arms encircling her. “God, I love you.”

Her heart jumped in her chest, and she gladly accepted his embrace. It just felt _so right_ to be with him. Even though he looked like a train wreck. When she pulled away, she looked up at him and was met with a look of pure and genuine adoration. One she would have quite literally killed for a couple of months ago. It made warmth flare inside her.

“This is your baby, J. Your (son/daughter),” said (Y/N) softly, cradling the baby, who was drifting off. For a child with Valeska blood, (he/she) was a rather easy baby. “(His/Her) name is (Y/B/N). I thought it worked. Do you want to hold (him/her)?”

“Darlin’, I kill with these hands,” Jerome told her as if she didn’t already know. As if it mattered.

“So I do. I didn’t let that stop me,” said (Y/N), smiling up at him. Dangerous hands, only gentle for the people she loved. Jerome’s smile returned, too. “You can be a daddy _and_ a killer, you know. C’mon.”

“Aw, okay. But if my face makes (him/her) cry, it’s your fault.”

Jerome set the revolver on the nearby desk, and (Y/N) carefully handed the baby to (his/her) father. She watched Jerome’s reaction, to try and get a read on how he felt. One thing she definitely caught was how Jerome’s face softened. He held the tiny thing in his arms, cradling (him/her) with an expression of pure adoration. The only other time (Y/N) had seen it was… was when he was looking at her.

The baby giggled, wide awake, and reached for Jerome. The sweetest little toothless smile spread on their (son/daughter)’s face. He let his hand dangle, cooing sweet nothings to the small child as a tiny fist squeezed one of Jerome’s fingers. (He/She) wasn’t at all afraid.

“You still wanna kill the father?” asked (Y/N) teasingly.

“I ain’t exactly interested in dying again, doll. Been there, done that. Maybe someone else though,” said Jerome, that wide and crazy grin resurfacing. He leaned down to press a butterfly kiss on the (boy/girl)’s forehead. Right where (Y/N) had. He then lay the baby back in (his/her) crib. (Y/N)’s heart ached at the idea that with the hands that Jerome killed people with, he used to hold her baby with such tenderness. “Say, you up to a bit of chaos, darlin’? I have my sight set on someone in particular. Or has motherhood got you down?”

Mischief twinkled in Jerome’s eye.

That got (Y/N) excited. “As if. Who do you have in mind?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

“Wow. So five minutes after holding your (son/daughter) for the first time, you want to kill someone. A child of all people. You really are a bad guy, aren’t you?” said (Y/N), smirking at him.

“Duh.”


	4. Jeremiah x fem!reader: Don't Start Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't show up, don't come out  
Don't start caring about me now  
Walk away, you know how  
Don't start caring about me now"

_Her breathing shuddered as she held up the stick. As the truth dug in, (Y/N)’s heart felt like she forgot how to breathe. Two pink lines… The test said positive again. This was the third time she tried it_

_“No, no, no! How could I be so stupid?!” she scolded her reflection. (Y/N) dug her hands in her hair, sinking to her knees. “What will Jeremiah say?”_

\---

Five months later, (Y/N) was called into the GCPD by Captain Gordon. This was strange, since she lived a quiet life. After getting a six-hour evacuation threat from Jeremiah Valeska – her ex-boyfriend – in person, the captain suspected she knew something of his location. But (Y/N) hadn’t spoken to Jeremiah in months, hadn’t even told him that she was _very_ pregnant with his child.

She was kept in custody, being gently questioned by both Gordon and Bullock, but they eventually believed her when she said she had no idea where he might be. (Y/N) had learnt to be a great liar.

Despite Gordon’s direct orders, (Y/N) managed to sneak past the unis assigned to her and got back out onto the streets. There were the odd few cops telling people to evacuate, and the last thing she wanted was to be recognised – all cops were alerted of Jeremiah Valeska’s pregnant ex-girlfriend now– and taken back to the precinct.

She pulled her coat tighter around her body and her growing baby bump, allowing the hood to shadow her face.

Six hours. Six hours, and Gotham would be blown to bits just so Jeremiah could rebuild it again in his crazed image. What had happened to him in such a short amount of time, considering the kind and gentle soul he had been when they were dating?

_Jerome happened_, she thought bitterly. _That messed-up son of a bitch_.

(Y/N) hoped and prayed she was right, that she knew Jeremiah well enough to find his lair. Being his ex-girlfriend, (Y/N) knew all about his bunker and a couple of his other hiding places, so she went to the first one she thought of: a stronghold beneath an abandoned warehouse on the far outskirts of the Narrows.

As she couldn’t catch a cab, (Y/N) suddenly became grateful for learning how to hotwire and steal a car.

(Y/N) sped down the streets, her foot almost flooring the accelerator. The pressure of six hours loomed over her. No one had a clue where Jeremiah might be, and there was no saying that he was even in any of the hideouts she had in mind. Her head buzzed for what she would do if she even found him. All she knew was that she was Gotham’s best bet.

She pulled up by the curb, threw the door open and jumped out of the car with as much as grace as a pregnant woman could have.

The warehouse looked like it was falling to pieces, much like a majority of the buildings in this part of Gotham, but it didn’t faze (Y/N). Jeremiah didn’t have a preference over hiding in plain sight and hiding in isolation.

(Y/N) tried to walk quietly as she searched the building. Her ears were strained for Jeremiah: for his voice, for his footsteps, even his scratching of a pencil on paper. Anything.

She climbed a staircase, wincing each time an old wooden board groaned and squeaked from her additional weight. Each step gave her consuming anxiety.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she heard her ex-boyfriend talking. It was unmistakably his voice. (Y/N)'s emotional state swooned as she approached the door to what seemed to be a study.

Jeremiah was talking to his/Jerome's goons, giving them orders on how to proceed with his bombing plan. It was at that moment that she got cold feet: did she really want to confront him on this? It would be a moment of truth, whether or not if Jeremiah still cared for her. Whether or not if Jerome’s spray changed more then Jeremiah’s appearance.

She stood there, frozen and listening, for some sign of what to do when she felt the cold barrel of a gun press against her (H/C) locks.

The goon, who had been given a make-over apparently, forced her through the door and into the limelight that was Jeremiah's attention.

She watched as the expression on his face shifted from serious to mild surprise. He still managed to keep his calm composure. In her defence, (Y/N) hadn't seen Jeremiah with his new look: the pale skin, green hair, bright red lips... It was _a lot_ to take in.

"(Y/N)... what a pleasant surprise," said Jeremiah, straightening his posture. He gestured dismissively to his goons, his eyes never leaving her face. "Leave us.”

After a few moments, she finally swallowed the lump in her throat and spoke. "Jeremiah, what happened to you?"

Jeremiah stood. "Nothing of concern. My idiotic excuse of a brother tried to drag me down to his level. Apart from the obvious complexional changes, he may as well have sprayed me with water. Trust him to fail when it comes to me. Intelligence was never his strength, you know."

"Jerome did this, what, to drive you mad? And you don't think it worked?" (Y/N) shook her head, taking it all in.

"It _didn't_ work. I am as sane as you, (Y/N)," said Jeremiah. He circled his desk and leant against it, in a manner that reminded (Y/N) of old times, of better times. _Of less complicated times. _"Though I am curious how you found me."

"I know you, Miah," she said simply.

"And why, may I ask, are you here?"

He already knew, (Y/N) was sure of it. "I'm here to stop you. You're sick, Miah, and you need help."

"Oh, my dear (Y/N), I'm not insane."

"You gave Gotham six hours to evacuate, so you can blow up the city. I know for a fact that you are aware this is an impossible task. You're willingly going to slaughter thousands. How is that not insane?"

Jeremiah ignored her. "You can’t stop me, (Y/N). Nothing you do can stop me. Gotham will ascend from the crime-ridden conditions and dirty political lows it has sunk to _thanks to me_. It will be rebuilt, a better Gotham will rise from its filthy ashes."

"Jeremiah, please…” she stopped herself, pausing to think. She needed a plan, a strategy to get him to change his mind. But how do you manipulate a genius like Jeremiah Valeska? A man who successfully turned power generators to bombs? “Jeremiah, I have to ask... I know we haven’t talked in a while, but… do you happen to still have feelings for me?" It was the question that had been eating away at her for months on end, the question keeping her up at night.

He hummed, considering.

"I still care for you, yes, but not enough to abandon my plans. I’m doing what Gotham needs, what everyone else is too cowardly to do," said Jeremiah. "Take my advice and leave the city. You can return once I’m finished with my maze."

(Y/N) felt the tears prick her eyes. She had to execute her last resort, Gotham's last chance. "Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it. Jeremiah Valeska, I'm pregnant and it's yours." She unbuttoned her coat enough so her baby bump was clearly visible. "And I will take your advice: I'll leave Gotham on the next train out, but I won't come back. I'll start a new life somewhere far away from you and this city and have our child. I’ve been with you long enough to know how you work. Believe me when I say you will never see either of us again."

Jeremiah stayed silent.

"But I won't have to if you call off the bombs," said (Y/N), crossing the distance to Jeremiah. They were standing so close, closer than they had in a long time. "You start caring now, we can be together. You can meet your son or daughter; we can be a family."

Jeremiah's startling grey pupils met her (E/C) ones. Behind them, she could see the old Jeremiah. So many emotions shared between them, all in one look. "I won't call it off."

"Then I guess… this is goodbye, Miah." The words felt like poison in (Y/N)'s mouth as she pulled away, pinning her coat back together. Disappointment was clear on her face and her heart ached, when she turned away from Jeremiah. “When it’s over, don’t bother showing up on my doorstep if you manage to track me down. Don’t waste your time looking for me.”

Jeremiah didn’t try to stop her from walking out the door, didn’t order his cronies to bring her back. Just watched the light of his gloomy life with his unborn child leave.

\---

The train station was packed with all the people wanting to flee Gotham. (Y/N) was reluctant to leave her home city, but this wasn’t about her. It was for the sake of her child, yet (Y/N) couldn’t shake the thought that she could have tried harder to convince Jeremiah to quit his fantasy of destroying the city.

But before she could sink too far into thought, the train arrived, and people rushed to get on. With her hands clutching her growing stomach, (Y/N) joined the thickening waves of escaping passengers. The commotion grew and got more intense, with shoving and pushing and yelling.

There were no seats left, so (Y/N) stood and held onto the railing. She hoped it wasn’t going to be too much of a bumpy ride out of Gotham. Maybe she should have taken one of the ferries?

A sudden uproar fired up again and (Y/N) was planning to ignore it. Tonight has been too much, and she just wants to sleep. But then she heard something that made her heart cartwheel in her chest.

_“It’s Valeska!”_

Her head snapped up and (Y/N) saw the crowds parting out of fear for the man with the stark-white skin and red smile. No one dared to get in his way or stop him from approaching her. She wasn’t totally sure how to feel, mostly because she wasn’t sure what he was going to do. For all she knew, in his current state, he could shoot her in the head just to get rid of a liability.

"Jeremiah?" she asked as he shoved a man out of the way to get to her.

"I called off the bombs, (Y/N)," said Jeremiah, taking her hands into his. “Gave them to Gordon. The six hours are no longer necessary. You don’t… you don’t have to go. I don’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave.”

The happiness (Y/N) felt couldn’t be expressed in words. She certainly couldn’t describe it to Jeremiah, so she kissed him. Fisting the front of his jacket and pulling him close, ignoring the gaping Gothamites around, and smashed their mouths together. No kiss had ever felt so right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requests and constructive criticism is appreciated. Let me know what you think in the comments!


	5. Jerome/ Jeremiah x fem!reader: Hey Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey brother!   
Do you still believe in one another?  
Hey sister!   
Do you still believe in love I wonder?  
Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you  
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT a romance oneshot. (Y/N) and the Valeska brothers are triplets! BTW it's pretty long, but worth it, I swear.

It was supposed to be a quiet night for (Y/N). She was exhausted from a long day of work. She lounged on the sofa, a glass of (F/D) in her hand, when there was a knock at her door.

“GCPD!” called a man from outside her door. (Y/N) got up and answered it, a mixed look of annoyance and confusion on her face. Two police officers stood on her doormat, one holding up his badge.

“Can I help you?” asked (Y/N).

“My name is James Gordon. This is Detective Harvey Bullock. We’re with the GCPD,” said one man, gesturing to his colleague. “Is this the home of Addilyn Chant?”

“It’s pronounced ‘Shantay’. Addilyn Chanté,” corrected (Y/N). People often got the wrong pronunciation of her alias’s surname. It was quite irritating at times, especially when she was so tired from her day. “And you’re talking to her.”

Gordon’s detective – Harvey Bullock was his name – elbowed him in a teasing friend-like manner. “Told you it was Chanté.” It was your typical ‘I told you so’. Rather childish, (Y/N) thought, since the guy looked at least forty. 

Gordon rolled his eyes a little, unimpressed with his partner, and turned his full attention to (Y/N). “We have some questions, Miss Chanté. About a man named Xander Wilde.”

Surprise almost made (Y/N)’s expression shift, but she recovered before anything could slip. She hoped the officers didn't caught anything from her, when she needed to shut this down ASAP. _Xander Wilde._ Why the hell were they looking for Jeremiah? “Who now?”

“Xander Wilde, a smarty-pants hotshot engineer at Meyers and Hayes,” said Bullock.

“My apologises, officers, I have never heard of this Xander Wilde before. I wish I could help you–”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m sorry?” (Y/N)’s heart tripped sickeningly in her chest at Gordon’s sudden and _confident_ statement. Familiar and heavy paranoia sunk in. She had been lying for a majority of her life: what exactly did Gordon know?

“May we come in?” asked Bullock harmlessly, though it was clear to (Y/N) it wasn’t a question.

She let them in and offered them a glass of scotch – which Harvey accepted and Jim turned down. She dropped into the armchair opposite the couch Gordon sat on. (Y/N) watched him while occasionally sipping on her drink, and Jim studied her just as intensely. It felt like a stand-off.

“You do know Wilde,” said Gordon, breaking the silence, “because you met him in person. Multiple times, apparently. Now, Wilde is a very private man, whose own associates haven’t even spoken to him in person. I wonder how you managed to get a hold of him?”

“Captain, I still have no clue what you’re talking about. Where did you get the impression that I know this Xander Wilde?” _Just deny_ _everything_. The mere possibility that these local cops knew for certain that (Y/N) met up with the mysterious prodigy Xander Wilde was slim as it is. What could they have that tied her to Jeremiah’s alias, especially when they had been so careful to cover their tracks?

“Jimbo, you’ll wanna see this. Check it out.” Bullock entered the living room and crossed straight over to Gordon. (Y/N) distantly pondered where he could have been, but her heart missed a beat when she saw Bullock handing a journal on an open page to his partner. “Care to explain why you’re seeing an _X.W_ once a month, Chanté?”

“X.W,” repeated Jim, looking up at (Y/N). “Xander Wilde.”

(Y/N) jumped to her feet, almost spilling her drink. “You went through my stuff?! Get out. Get out of my house.” She jabbed a finger at the door.

Gordon got up, leaving her journal on the coffee table. “Addilyn, please.” His tone was soft, pleading. “We need your help to find Xander Wilde, he’s in danger. It’s likely he has a personal connection to Jerome Valeska.”

Her blood chilled at the mention of his name, and flashbacks of his face from her childhood and the newspapers appeared in her head. _Jerome_. “I assure you, Captain, Xander is perfectly safe where he is. He’d be even safer if you dropped this futile effort to find him.”

“He’s not as safe as you think, Addilyn. Jerome’s closing in on his location,” said Bullock. “He just hit Meyers and Hayes. Jerome knows his proxy’s name and address. Chances are he’s on his way.”

Now, (Y/N) knew her brother – Jeremiah was ridiculously clever and often had backup plans for his backup plans. Always has and always will. Surely he had thought of something to deal with Jerome in case he ever managed to get a hold of Ecco and his location. But the dreaded question ate away at her confidence: _what if?_ What if he didn’t know their murderous psychopath of a brother was coming for him?

It didn’t take much convincing after that for her to agree, but she told the officers she must be allowed to come with if they were going to Jeremiah’s bunker.

Soon the three of them were driving through the secluded woods to Jeremiah’s underground home, which he had been building for six years in an attempt to protect himself – and (Y/N), if need be – from Jerome.

_Ainslie Drive_, she thought, _it’s been a while. _

\---

“Oh, you are incorrigible. And then again, you always were,” Jerome laughed through the monitor. “Oh, wait. Or was that me? Sometimes I get so confused, I… I can’t remember.” He cackled again. “You didn’t have to run away like that. Either of you! You see, I would never hurt you, _Xander_. I love you!

“I can’t wait to see ya. Did you think about me? I know that you did. Oh, I’m gonna squeeze you until you pop–” The buzzer blared, alerting Jeremiah of an approaching intruder. With a flick of a switch, Jerome’s distorted face shifted to a security camera, showing a car driving up the road.

Jeremiah watched as two GCPD officers and his sister stepped out of the vehicle and approached the bunker door. One of the men pressed the speaker box, and a buzz sounded through Jeremiah’s workspace. “James Gordon, here to see Xander Wilde.”

Reluctantly, he let them in and had Ecco meet them. If his sister was with them, there was no point waiting for them to leave – (Y/N) knew he _very _rarely left his bunker. Hell, he only really left to see her. Once a month, that was it. Ecco got everything else he needed, so he didn't have to. He quickly switched off the monitors and stood at his wall of blueprints, hands on his hips.

“He’ll see you now,” said Ecco.

A pause, then Gordon and Bullock walked inside his study, followed by (Y/N). From the corner of Jeremiah’s eye, he could tell she looked guilty and apologetic.

“Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Wilde,” said Gordon.

“I expected you might come, Captain.” Jeremiah turned around, revealing his face. As he anticipated, the two men were startled by his appearance. Honestly, why wouldn’t they be? Jeremiah was Jerome’s identical brother, after all.

“My God,” said Bullock as Gordon pulled out his handgun. Jeremiah put his hands up, showing he meant no harm. “There’s two of them.”

“May I put my hands down now, gentlemen?” asked Jeremiah, ever the diplomat. He looked at (Y/N), a protective look in his eye. “Please?”

Gordon seemed to notice the look shared between them and grew more curious. He put his gun away. “Apologies, Mr. Wilde, you took us by surprise.”

“It’s understandable. You can call me Jeremiah. That’s the name my mother gave me.” Jeremiah approached the three, giving (Y/N) an indicating look.

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Um, well…My name actually isn’t Addilyn Chanté, it’s… it’s (Y/N) Valeska. The name _our_ mother gave me.”

\---

Jeremiah described their past circumstances to Gordon and Bullock, explaining what Jerome had done to them as children and how they were taken away from Haly’s Circus by their uncle Zach and given new identities: Addilyn Chanté and Xander Wilde. How, in his heart, Jeremiah knew Jerome would one day come for himself and (Y/N).

“Well, that day is today, pops,” said Bullock.

“We have reason to believe Jerome knows where you are,” said Gordon. “We need to move you to a safe location until we can apprehend him.” Gordon’s eyes went from Jeremiah to (Y/N). “Both of you.”

“That won’t be necessary, gentlemen. I’ve spent the bulk of my life preparing for this eventuality. My sister and I will be safest here in my home.” Jeremiah leaned against the corner on his desk, his hands slipping into his pockets.

“Not anymore,” (Y/N) told Jeremiah. She gave a little gesture in Gordon and Bullock’s direction. “They told me Jerome has the name of your proxy. Apparently, they got it off your boss right before he killed him. Poor man.”

“Yes, (Y/N), I heard about Jerome visiting Allan Hayes. It’s tragic. But the proxy’s name I gave to Allan was a fake.”

There was a silence between the four of them for several long seconds. (Y/N) knew what Jeremiah was telling the officers was fake in itself: he had confided in her about his plan about getting Jerome to him when he first figured out the kinks. She just had to play along with it, to keep the Gordon and the GCPD in the dark.

“You’re lying.” Gordon’s words were so uncomfortably familiar to (Y/N) that her heart jumped. Gordon was very good at catching liars.

Jeremiah didn’t even flinch, his reaction was calm. Like brother like sister, he knew how to conceal his emotions. Though, to admit, he was much better at it. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s something about these two that’s fishy,” said Bullock as Gordon turned to the back of the room, overlooking the blank monitors.

“Security cameras outside were turned on, so why are the monitors in here off?” asked Gordon, nodding to the stacks of them.

(Y/N) scowled at Gordon, folding her arms over her chest. “Why is that any of your concern, Captain?”

“Agreed,” said Jeremiah, sounding slightly more frantic, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’m a very busy man–”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” Gordon totally ignored him, crossing the room to the monitors.

“Please don’t touch that. That’s very sensitive equipment.”

But the police captain ignored Jeremiah, reaching out to twist the nozzles on the monitor screens. (Y/N) strode after him to grab his arm.

“Hey, you listen to my brother, he told you not to–” But it was too late. The screens – one in particular – flickered to life and the image of Jeremiah and (Y/N)’s triplet sibling came through. It was the first time (Y/N) had seen him since his reign as leader of the Maniax, since his death. It was surreal.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll say that’s pretty damn sensitive,” said Bullock, turning back to Jeremiah with a mixed expression of shock and amusement.

“You… you actually got him? For real?” asked (Y/N), staring at the monitor in disbelief. She watched as Jerome did what seemed to be yoga, stretching before he gave a little wave to the screen like he somehow knew she was watching.

Gordon looked at (Y/N), who didn’t turn away from the screen, then to Jeremiah. “You need to take us to your brother.”

“What? No, he’s not doing that,” said (Y/N).

“What if she’s nuttier then the other one?” asked Bullock. “What if this Jeremiah guy is? They’re triplets after all.”

“We’re nothing like Jerome!” Jeremiah took a threatening step towards Bullock, (Y/N) had put her hand on his shoulder to calm him down. If there’s anything Jeremiah loathes, it’s being compared to their psychotic brother.

“You want me to put you in a cell next to his? Because that’s where this is heading.”

“On what grounds?” snarled (Y/N), her face inches from Gordon’s.

Gordon didn’t back down. “Harbouring a fugitive is all you need to get jail time.”

“You couldn’t hold him, Arkham couldn’t, I can.” It was Jeremiah’s turn to look Gordon in the eye, and he was even more tenacious then (Y/N) to keep Jerome in that concrete cell. “And I will make sure Jerome never escapes again.”

“No, no, no, Jerome comes with us. And if you wanna make this easier on yourself, I suggest you and your sister stay the hell out of the way.” The Captain’s tone was just as threatening, but that conversation had lost (Y/N)’s attention. It was now focused on the beeping from the security cameras and, when she checked them, she felt her heart drop to her stomach.

“Uh, Jeremiah, officers? Jerome’s cronies are outside. Like, Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane,” (Y/N) told them. She stepped aside for Jeremiah to see.

“No, no, no, no…” muttered Jeremiah under his breath. He pulled up the footage from his entire maze onto all the monitors. “How’d they find me?”

“Must’ve followed Jerome. We need to move. Now,” said Gordon. As soon as he finished his sentence, the power went dead. All the monitors and the lights went out, turning the study into a dark red. An alarm started up, loud and distressing.

“This is not good,” Bullock said.

“_Oh, really_?” snapped (Y/N) sarcastically. She turned to her brother. “Please tell me you have a way of out here.”

“Of course, I do.”

\---

After a hypnotised Ecco attacked, (Y/N) and Jeremiah abandoned the GCPD officers to escape the maze. It was the wrong thing to do, yes they knew, but neither of them wanted to see Jerome face-to-face. Especially when what Jerome wanted to do to his triplet brother and sister was the very thing that kept them sleepless some nights.

(Y/N)’s hand was in Jeremiah’s, clutching it tight as he led them through his labyrinth. Twisting and turning and navigating the seemingly infinite corners until the glowing purple THE END arrow. Giving his sister’s hand a squeeze, Jeremiah sighed in relief.

But hearing Jerome’s voice made them both freeze on the spot. “_Hey_, brother, sister.”

(Y/N) was the first to back away, tugging at Jeremiah to follow, but stopped suddenly when she saw the Scarecrow and Tetch blocking their escape. When they turned again, in a desperate attempt to get away from the criminals, Jeremiah came head-on with Jerome’s gun. (Y/N) couldn’t keep the shocked gasp in.

“So, how you been?” asked Jerome casually, still holding the gun straight at Jeremiah’s forehead. Anyone could tell how scared he was, but could you blame him? “Oh, you look great. And to think I used to be the handsome one, right? Hiya (Y/N)!”

(Y/N), who was clutching Jeremiah’s arm as if she thought he’d vanish into thin air, swallowed down her fear enough to speak. “Jerome.”

“How’d you find your way through the maze?” Jeremiah held his sister tight, positioning the two of them so she was behind him. Jerome would have to kill him first before he got to (Y/N). Jeremiah meant what he used to tell her: ‘_If the sky came falling down, for you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do, okay?’_

“Oh, bro, we might not look the same anymore but we still think–” Jerome flicked Jeremiah in the forehead, hard. “– the same. Plus, you used to draw those stupid things all the time as a kid. You and (Y/N), always mucking around with the boring maze junk. I paid attention.”

After sending Tetch and Crane away to find Gordon and Bullock, Jerome chuckled again, leaning against the cement wall of the labyrinth while holding Jeremiah at gunpoint. He continued, the sickening smile never leaving his face: “I’ve been waiting for this moment for fifteen years, you know. Ever since the two of you ran away in the middle of the night like cowards!”

“You’re insane,” Jeremiah told him, his confidence coming back a little. “And I tried telling Mom, but she didn’t wanna listen to me. Even with (Y/N) preaching the same, she just didn’t believe it.”

With her brother’s bravery, (Y/N) decided she, too, would stand up against Jerome. They were going to die anyway, right? “You blame Jeremiah and I for everything that’s gone wrong in your life, but the truth is, Jerome, you were born bad.”

“Born bad, huh?” Jerome nodded with mock contemplation. “So that’s why you made Mommy dear think I tried to kill you, right?”

(Y/N) and Jeremiah opened their mouths to argue, to defend themselves even though it seemed pointless to disagree with their brother. 

“What was it again? What was it? I put a blade to your throat!” Jerome shoved Jeremiah back, still smiling with a playful tone. “No, no, no. I tried to light you on fire.” He shoved him again, almost jerking (Y/N) off his arm.

“We all know you wanted to!” exclaimed (Y/N), her voice totally certain and firm.

“Yeah, that was a funny story, wasn’t it?”

Jeremiah glanced at (Y/N). “Okay, maybe it didn’t happen exactly like that, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect myself and my sister. In the end, I was right.”

Jerome only smiled wider at that, at his brother’s confession.

“We’re… we’re not saying we’re innocent, Jerome. I admit that much,” said (Y/N), daring to look him right in the eye. She stood up straight, letting go of Jeremiah’s arm to stand beside him. The next words she said, her bottom lip trembled and her voice cracked. “But- but you killed our mother.”

Jerome turned the gun on (Y/N), cocking his head to the side. “She did deserve it though.” He laughed again, his abnormal smile stretching from ear-to-ear. “After that whore hid you away, she gave up on me, _poisoned_ by your stories. You worked together to turn everyone I ever loved against me. My own flesh and blood!” Jerome yanked (Y/N) closer to him and jabbed the gun’s muzzle into her cheekbone. “So much for blood being thicker than water, huh? I guess like it’s what they say. ‘We all could go insane with just one bad day’.”

He cackled again, shoving her backwards into Jeremiah. “I guess with you, my dear brethren, it’s more like one bad spray. You’ll see.”

“What are you gonna do to us, Jerome?” asked Jeremiah.

“Come on. I’m gonna kill ya, of course. But first…” Jerome leaned in, disturbingly close to both (Y/N) and Jeremiah’s faces. “… I’m gonna drive ya mad. But don’t worry, you won’t be alone. The rest of Gotham will be joining ya, too.”

“Let’s go! Let’s go! They’re after me and the Scarecrow!” Tetch scrambled past the triplets, followed by Crane.

Jerome rolled his eyes. “These guys just don’t give up, huh?”

Bullock’s shouting came closer through the maze corridors, and both Jeremiah and (Y/N) made a break for the safety of Jim Gordon at the same time. They were oh, so close but Jerome grabbed the back of (Y/N)’s (F/C) jacket and yanked her backwards against him. With a surprised yelp, Jerome’s arm tightened around her neck in a headlock. The pistol clicked as the redhead pressed it into his sister’s temple.

Jeremiah spun around to see his beloved sister in danger. “(Y/N), no!”

“Get any close, and I’ll splatter her!” cried out Jerome to Gordon. “Gonna splatter sis!”

“No, you won’t. If you wanted her dead, you would have killed her already.” Gordon had his gun trained on the two triplets, but he couldn’t get a clear shot.

Jerome cackled again, the sound seeming to echo in (Y/N)’s head. She was pretty sure she’d be hearing it for a while, if she got out of this alive. “He’s right. I’ll see you soon.” Jerome’s hot, sour breath was right on her ear. He planted a kiss against her (H/C) hair, which could have been seen as loving motion if he wasn’t a complete nutjob, and shoved her to the floor.

With that, he let off a few uncoordinated gunshots in their direction and cackled manically before he took off out the exit. Gordon and Bullock chased after the deranged psychopath while Jeremiah scrambled to his sister. She was shaking and on the verge of tears.

“Shh, shh, I’m here, it’s okay,” cooed Jeremiah as he wrapped her in a hug. “Look at me. Sister, it’s okay, he’s gone. You’re safe, (Y/N). I’m going to protect you, all right? There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

The emotional attention was too much for her, knowing that at least one brother was by her side, and she let a few tears go. She didn’t try to talk, only buried her face in the coat of Jeremiah’s suit. His hand drew comforting circles on her back, not saying anything else.

Only one thing was for certain: this wasn’t going to be the last she’d see of her crazed triplet brother.


	6. Jerome x fem!reader: Crazy = Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I said (hey ay, ay)  
If crazy equals genius (hey ay, ay)  
If crazy equals genius  
Then I'm a fucking arsonist (hey)  
I'm a rocket scientist (hey hey)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based of the strip club scene from Suicide Squad, where (Y/N) takes Harley Quinn's place. Also, NSFW! If you know, you know.

“We finally meet,” said Monster T, offering his hand to Jerome. The Clown King, the Ginger Maniac, Jerome Valeska, dressed in his red and white suit, didn’t move, his hands staying clasped on his staff.

“Nah, he don’t shake hands,” one of Jerome’s bodyguards told him. “But sit down and have a drink.”

Monster T lounged back into his seat, taking a sip of his scotch and watching Jerome as he stares off into the next room distantly. “Hey, J. On behalf of everybody, welcome back. I wanted to thank you personally. You makin’ me good money. I’m makin’ you good money.”

Jerome had been out of Gotham for a few weeks, working on expanding his criminally insane empire and personally seeing to the shipments of his new firearms that kept getting delayed. There had been a problem with the Batman interfering, but Jerome had dealt with that. With more than a little blood on his hands, he was back in Gotham with more power and influence behind him than ever.

But Jerome was barely interested in what Monster T was saying: he was watching the gorgeous (H/C) haired girl, wearing a skimpy gold dress and high heels, dirty dancing onstage. The men surrounding her were practically drooling down their fronts at her seductive movements. 

“Are you sweet-talking me?” asked Jerome, turning back to him with his signature grin stretching across his face. “I love this guy. He’s so intense!”

The crowd in the strip club cheered, and Monster T looked over at the dancing girl. He’d be lying if he said she wasn’t hot and if her dancing wasn’t a little arousing. The people watching seemed hypnotised by her, as she whipped her hair around and moved up and down the golden chain pole. Still, he noticed how no one dared to touch the girl: everyone knew who she belonged too, and the horrifying fates of the men that had groped (Y/F/N) were more than well known in Gotham's criminal underworld. Jerome made sure of that when he had his goons hang their mangled bodies in the centre of one of his clubs. That was the day that people truly started to fear Jerome Valeska. 

“You’re a lucky man,” commented T as he watched the girl. “You got a bad bitch.”

“Oh, that she is.” Jerome’s face twitched, a dangerous expression surfacing. It was heated, possessive, angry. He stood. “The fire in my loins. The itch in my crotch. The one, the only, the infamous (Y/F/N)!”

Jerome brought his fingers to his lips and whistled, getting (Y/N)’s attention. She completely abandoned her dancing to come to Jerome, much to her admirers’ disappointment.

“Oh, come to Daddy,” cooed Jerome, love and lust in his dark eyes. The purest form of each, shining in his dark eyes for this beautiful woman.

“Hiya, J,” (Y/N) giggled as she slipped through the strings of shimmery gold beads. She took his extended hand, using it to jump into the room.

“Listen here, baby girl, you are my gift to this-” Jerome nudged the (H/C) haired girl towards Monster T, who listened without question. She wasn't at all fazed, as you would expect. “-handsome hunka hunka! You belong to him now.”

(Y/N) smiled flirtatiously, slinking onto T’s lap and looping her arm around his neck, giggling. T couldn’t help but join in. She was _hot_. “Well… you’re cute. You want me?” (Y/N) moved her face closer, her hand cupping T’s cheek and trailing her nails up his jaw. “I’m all yours~”

Meanwhile, Jerome seethed in jealousy, breathing heavily as he watched (Y/N) being so close to T. Only he, Jerome Valeska – Mr. J, the Clown Prince of Gotham - could have her like that. Everyone knew, or else he'd make it known.

T noticed. “Look, man, I don’t want no beef.”

“You want no beef?” mocked Jerome. “_You want no beef_?”

“Why, what’s wrong?” (Y/N) asked T, starting to get up. “You don’t like me? Fine. Don’t waste my time then.”

“This is your lady,” said Monster T as (Y/N) flicked her hair over her shoulder as she gracefully sat beside where Jerome was standing, barely able to contain her smile. She watched her boyfriend from her seat, twirling strands of her hair around her fingers as T's expression shattered. 

“Look, are you enjoying yourself?” asked Jerome, moving dangerously close to T. He radiated danger; anyone could sense it and everyone would fear it.

“No… that’s your lady, Jerome.”

“Damn right.” Jerome drew his pistol and shot Monster T right between the eyes, making (Y/N) giggle. The mob boss went limp and his head fell back, dead.

“Oh, _J_, were you jealous?” purred (Y/N) innocently, getting up to push Jerome back into a seat and straddle his waist. She leaned forward, chest pressed to his, her lips a hair’s breadth from his. Her (H/C) hair tickled his face. “It was your idea, after all. You’re so possessive.”

“I can’t help myself, doll face. I don’t like sharing.” Jerome had a hunger in his eyes.

“Hm. Well, I do like seeing you all fired up. It’s kinda hot.” (Y/N) kissed him, her fingers pushing through his spikey ginger hair.

“You know how I work; I’m a fucking arsonist, I’m a rocket scientist. My ideas _always_ work in our favour, don’t they?” He spoke between hot, wet kisses. When Jerome pulled away to catch his breath again, he murmured against (Y/N)’s lips. “And I’d do anything for you, darlin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!!


	7. Jeremiah x fem!reader: Darkside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Take me through the night  
Fall into the dark side  
We don't need the light  
We'll live on the dark side"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though this one is TECHNICALLY a Bruce romance (he's so sweet, I couldn't help myself), Jeremiah's a possessive little shit so we stan. Bit long, but was so fun to write. Enjoy!

_“Why do you think he’s so obsessed with you?” whispered Bruce, barely withdrawing from their gentle kiss. He was so close that (Y/N) could feel his hot breath on her lips. _

_(Y/N) exhaled out softly. “Jeremiah said, ‘All it takes is one bad day to drive a person insane’. I can't help wondering if he sensed something in me, something mad. Sometimes I feel it, Bruce, I know it’s there. Maybe he wanted to bring it out.”_

_“You proved him wrong, (Y/N).” His mouth twitched into a rare smile, one (Y/N) hadn’t seen from Bruce in a long time. It was a more than welcome sight, a phenomenon so contagious that made (Y/N) want to smile with him. _

_“To be fair…” came Jeremiah’s calm, drawling voice as he stepped out of one of the dark corners of Thomas Wayne’s study. He still wore that purple suit and red gloves but must have ditched the hat sometime during the bomb threat. In the dimmed light, Jeremiah's face was horrifying pale. Bruce sprung up immediately, putting himself between Jeremiah’s pistol and (Y/N). The gun pressed in his middle and clicked. “The day’s not over yet.”_

_(Y/N) leapt to her feet, but Jeremiah had already pulled the trigger. The gunshot was short. Bruce fell back onto the coffee table with a grunt of pain, knocking off and shattering several expensive items. _

_She looked back at Jeremiah in horror, at his white face and red lips and shocking eyes, and he smiled sincerely at her. He tossed the pistol aside on the couch Bruce and (Y/N) had been sitting on merely seconds ago, as if showing her he was defenceless. But she didn’t care. Adrenaline washed over her like a bucket of ice-cold water when it finally hit her what Jeremiah had done. _

_“Bruce! Bruce!” she cried out, screaming, as she dropped down to him. (Y/N) clutched his shuddering body and shook him, cupping the back of his neck to keep his eyes on her. To her terror, they rolled back in his skull. Her hand pressed down on the gunshot wound, applying pressure to it, as he began to pass out. Bruce’s dark, hot blood coated her fingers. “Bruce, please! Bruce! Bruce, stay with me!”_

_So much blood…_

_Distantly, behind her, she registered Alfred tackling Jeremiah to the ground and beating him to a pulp. Blow after blow and Jeremiah wasn’t at all fighting back. Normally, (Y/N) would have been suspicious that he had a plan, a reason, but she was far too concentrated on keeping Bruce awake. After all they’ve been through, all they’ve survived together, she couldn’t lose him._

_\---_

Hours seemed to pass with (Y/N) waiting at Gotham General hospital for the doctors to finish Bruce’s surgery. There was no news, no updates of his condition or if he'd even make it. She sat beside Alfred with her head in her hands, red-faced and puffy-eyed. The tears had stopped now, but the everlasting dread that Bruce wouldn’t make it kept coming.

When a small team of government army soldiers turned up with the order that (Y/N) was to come back with them to interrogate Jeremiah Valeska, (Y/N) obviously refused to cooperate. She wanted to keep her promise to Bruce, that she would stay by his side, but the soldiers weren’t having it. One actually tried to physically restrain her, which caused to (Y/N) lash out, and Alfred had to hold her back.

They eventually brought both (Y/N) and Alfred into the GCPD. Major Rodney Harlan led them inside, where Bullock was waiting for them.

“Oh, Bullock, can you tell this putz to let us go, please?” asked Alfred.

Bullock crossed over to address the Major. “Major, was this really necessary? She’s just a kid–”

“A kid that attacked one of my men.”

“Well, you can’t really expect her to be in a cooperative mood, now, can you?” snapped Alfred. “Look at the state of her. Plus, you’re forcing her to talk to the man who she watched shoot her best friend.”

The Major ignored him. “Bullock, did you prepare Valeska like I asked?”

Bullock nodded, looking resigned, and the Major turned to (Y/N). The way he spoke to her, with a calm and controlled tone, made her want to scream at him. _You took me away from Bruce. I have to be there for him. _“You’ll be perfectly safe, Miss (Y/L/N). If you can help us learn the locations of the bombs–”

“I got the gist of it, Major. You brought me here against my will, and I want to get this over with so I can get back to my friend,” said (Y/N) with a surprising amount of composure. “At least let Alfred leave, though. He ought to be there if Bruce wakes up.”

“No, absolutely not, young lady. Master B would have my head if he found out I left you here alone with these _gentlemen_. I’ll be here until you’re done.”

She gave him a short, weak smile as the soldier led her away. Soon she was fitted with a wireless communication earpiece, which was hidden away under her (H/C) locks. Once it was operational and tested, (Y/N) slipped into the dark interrogation room to see Jeremiah strapped securely to a dolly cart. The only light came from directly above him, giving Jeremiah the attention he clearly craved. _Her_ attention. 

“Hello, (Y/N),” said Jeremiah with a pleased smile. “It’s great to see you.”

_All emotions pushed down; this will be over soon…_ (Y/N) told herself, sticking near to the door. “Where are the bombs, Jeremiah?”

“Closer, please.”

She moved a few steps closer, keeping a poker-face even though she knew Jeremiah could see the result of her tears and grief.

“Closer.”

A tiny step closer, the single light illuminating her face, seemed to satisfy Jeremiah for the moment. (Y/N) didn’t know what she’d do if she could reach Jeremiah – she didn’t want to know, but it’d be something she would surely regret when the anger passed. She didn't think she could take anymore regret or guilt or self-hatred at the moment. 

“Tell me,” Jeremiah said. “How is Bruce doing? By the looks of you, not so well.”

“Why’d you do it? I thought you cared about Bruce.” (Y/N) couldn’t help but ask, even with the risk of a voice crack hanging over her head. But the question had been eating away at her since it happened.

“Oh, I did. I cared very much. I wanted him to be my best friend, my equal, as he was yours. Like I wish for you and I to be. But when I watched your little… ah, _conversation_ back at his home, I realised that Bruce,” he paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, and smiled at her. “had a lesson to learn. You’ll see, in the long run, that everything I do is for you, (Y/N). You, like I was, are at war with your true nature. Believe me, I see it, I know that you can feel it, you don’t need the light. Give in to your darkside. I’m one of the few willing to give you the push you need to be free. I’m just trying to help you.”

The thing was… he sounded so sincere, so genuine. It felt like Jeremiah had convinced himself that he was truly doing the right thing.

“Trying to help me?” repeated (Y/N). She approached him, getting more and more lost in her anger. “By trying to destroy Gotham? By killing innocent men, women and children? By shooting Bruce? I know you see something in me, an evil like the one that lives inside of you. The difference is, I know how to control mine.”

“I think you could be so strong if you just gave in. I see it, under your beauty and defiance. I see the real, the true you, when all these people don’t. They just hold you back. He sees it, too.”

(Y/N) was taken aback. “_He_? Who’s ‘_he_’?”

Jeremiah winked.

“Ask him about the bombs.” The Major’s voice buzzed through the earpiece. For a moment, (Y/N) had forgotten they were being watched.

“Where are the other bombs?”

The expression on Jeremiah’s pale face seemed annoyed, and he turned his head to look directly into the surveillance camera. “What bombs?”

“The bombs you planted around the city,” said (Y/N) firmly. “You blew up the mayor.”

“Ah, that bomb. Yes, that was the only one. But it did what it had to do, didn’t it? It got you here.”

Something felt very, very wrong about this. Yet, (Y/N) couldn’t find it in her to leave like every one of her instincts told her to. Instead, she got even closer to Jeremiah, her face contorted in hatred and determination. There was no way she was backing out now.

“You said ‘_he_’. Who do you mean?” (Y/N) practically growled at him.

“The one who opened up my eyes to the bigger picture. Who showed me that everything I was doing to change Gotham was not for me, but for you. He showed me what I had to do to make you the person you’re destined to be. Very soon, you will be by my side as you were meant to be. Tonight, everything you ever knew won’t be the same.”

Fists balled up, (Y/N) pushed herself right into Jeremiah’s personal space. “Tell me his name.”

“What did the doctors say?” said Jeremiah instead. “Will the little brat ever walk again? Did I sever a vertebra? I was hoping for the lumbar–”

Without thinking, (Y/N) grabbed handfuls of his purple jacket, almost yelling, “_Tell me his name_!” Their faces were so close that she could feel his breathing on her cheeks. And still, he wasn’t fazed. The look on his face - content, was it? - fueled the savage fire blooming within her. 

“You already know his name. Our beloved Bruce is his heir. From what he told me, you came oh, _so close_ to stopping his resurrection.”

(Y/N)’s blood ran cold, and realisation hit her like a brick. She felt sick as she whispered the name.

“Ra’s Al Ghul…”

The lone light flickered, Jeremiah’s growing smirk being the last thing she saw before it went out. The cries of the soldiers only fuelled her panic. She retreated, moving back towards the exit when a leather-clad hand seized her arm and yanked her into a taller someone’s body.

“Not so fast.” A light chuckle and a soft hiss in (Y/N)’s ear sent shivers down her spine. Something clasped over her nose and mouth, smelling distinctively sweet like chloroform, before (Y/N) fell unconscious.

\---

The next thing (Y/N) comprehended were strong arms holding her up and walking her somewhere. There was a black bag over her head, cutting off her vision and muffling her hearing. Still, she knew she was in a dangerous position.

She tried twisting and writhing in their hold, digging her heels in, but to no avail.

Someone ripped the bag from her head. Sudden overwhelming brightness forced her to wince, but the sight Jeremiah striding over to Ra’s Al Ghul himself made her breath hitch. She was almost lost for words. _Almost_.

“It’s true. You actually survived.” (Y/N) was more just talking to herself, confirming suspicions. When she stabbed Ra’s skeletal half-living body during his revival, a part of her sincerely believed she reversed the process, stopped an evil man from returning to life. But she didn’t: the most (Y/N) did was slow it. Seemed like Bruce really was the only one with the power to do it. “How did you two–”

“Find each other?” Ra’s approached (Y/N), his League of Assassins men forcing her to meet him halfway. She didn’t try to resist, and they parted to the sides. “I like to think it was because of you, (Y/N), and my heir. Thanks to your brave little stunt at my rebirth, I saw a vision: of Gotham in cleansing flames. Your combined efforts gifted me with that, which made me realise that I couldn’t possibly do it alone. It’s a shame that Bruce couldn’t be here for the result.” Ra’s turned to Jeremiah. “I trust things went smoothly?”

“Like clockwork.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but notice their friendliness, as if Bruce wasn’t a variable. “So it doesn’t matter to you that Jeremiah shot Bruce? That he’s the reason your heir is in critical condition?”

“I have confidence in Jeremiah’s reasoning,” said Ra’s, as if that explained everything.

“Bruce is _dying_. The doctors don’t know if he’ll ever be able to walk again. And for what? Because Jeremiah says so? Because Jeremiah’s jealous that we- we kissed?!”

“What I felt when Bruce kissed you was so strong; it could not have been jealousy. Bruce simply needed a reminder to not touch what doesn’t belong to him. I have full faith he’ll recover,” said Jeremiah. He crossed the room over to the large window with slow strides.

“I don’t belong to anyone, especially not you.”

“(Y/N), I know it may be difficult for you to understand, but soon you will need Jeremiah. Gotham is about to become a savage place, every man for himself, and we’re going to witness the full majesty of the city’s destruction from here.” Ra’s spoke like it was something remarkable as he snaked an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, urging her to walk with him.

“I hope you know how insane the both of you are,” (Y/N) told them, shrugging Ra’s hand off her shoulder and fixing him with a glare.

Ra’s shook his head, smiling like she was a stubborn child. “There is a fine line between insanity and brilliance, a great man will often cross it many times in his life. But Jeremiah and I have you to thank for this, as if not for you, I would never have had the vision. _You_ are our muse, my dear. All I want is for you to see the beauty in destruction, the genius in madness.”

“And see, you will,” said Jeremiah, circling from the window to approach her. His gloved hand settled on her shoulder. “I once told you that I would go to any and all lengths to open your eyes to the truth. I mean it. I’m a man of my word, (Y/N).”

Jeremiah’s little speech put (Y/N) on edge. She feared to think too much about how far he’d truly go to ‘open her eyes’. When Barbara Kean showed up and interrupted them, (Y/N) had never felt more gratitude towards the blonde. But (Y/N) didn’t expect her to cockily declare she’d put Ra’s six feet under for the second time and for good, nor did she expect Barbara to bring plenty of backup.

Everything happened like the drop of a hat.

Gunshots, war cry-like shouts, approaching footsteps, the sound of whips cracking, and blades being torn from their covers. From what (Y/N) could distinguish in the mess, Barbara had bought Selina and Tabitha with her, as well as Penguin and some of his men, Alfred and… and _Bruce_?

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Jeremiah had a fistful of (Y/N)’s shirt, effectively keeping her off balance and unable to fight back as he shot at Penguin’s men. Then Bruce came out of nowhere, as if he manifested from the darkness, and tackled Jeremiah from behind. They wrestled on the floor as (Y/N) stumbled, falling hard on her ribs. Breathing through it, she crawled over to a discarded blade.

By the time (Y/N) cut her wrists free from the ropes, Jeremiah had flipped Bruce onto his back and held a switchblade to his throat. His red lips were moving, saying something to Bruce, but (Y/N) couldn't hear what it was. Something told her she wouldn't want to know. Bruce was struggling to keep it from slitting his neck open.

But (Y/N) didn’t manage to get to them. No, one of the assassins took it upon himself to recapture her and sprung at her barehanded, which (Y/N) countered well enough. It was Tabitha that saved Bruce’s life, wrapping her whip around Jeremiah’s neck and tightening it.

(Y/N)’s assassin got caught by rogue bullets and she stepped over his limp body to get to Bruce.

“What are you doing here?!” (Y/N) demanded, pulling Bruce to his feet. She didn't let go of his hand, looking him up and down for injuries. He seemed fine, though, as if he hadn't been shot and in surgery within the last 24 hours. That boy was really something else. “You just got out of surgery, you idiot!”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, pulling her into a quick peck on the lips before sprinting away into the densest part of the battle to help Alfred.

A subdued cry of pain brought (Y/N) out of her mild daze, and she spun around to see Jeremiah looming over Tabitha as he harshly twisted his blade in the woman’s forearm. He whispered something to her, her blood darker than his ruby-red lips. When he looked up at (Y/N), the expression in Jeremiah’s eyes softened and he smiled. He got up and made a break for an exit. (Y/N) didn’t even think twice when she bolted after him.

All rational thoughts left her as she chased Jeremiah up a twisting staircase on to another floor. She had no idea what she’d do when she caught up to him. All she wanted, all she could process, was that she wanted all things 'Jeremiah' to be done with.

She burst out the door, finding herself on the building’s rooftop. It had an incredible view of Gotham, with the stretching bay and Wayne Tower and all the city bridges – that’s when it hit her.

_Jeremiah wanted to bring her up here_.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” came Jeremiah’s voice. She whirled around as Jeremiah revealed himself, his pistol held aloft. “Turn around. I want you to see this.”

“See what?” hissed (Y/N), obeying him as she felt him drawing closer.

The two stood at the edge, a low wall of concrete between them and a long fall to certain death. A part of her wanted to laugh at the irony; imagine if they suffered the same fate as Jerome? Jeremiah stood at her side with his gun pressed into her spine as an ominous threat. (Y/N) knew for a fact that Jeremiah was insane enough to permanently cripple her if it meant she couldn’t leave him; she didn’t want to risk it.

“The push that Gotham needs, that you need.”

His smile was all teeth and at that moment, the bridges blew. One after the other, until Gotham was severed from the mainland. (Y/N) watched in horror, her mouth gaping and her (E/C) eyes wide.

“Wha-what have you _done_?” She could hardly get the words out. Hot bubbling hatred rose in her throat. Her hands formed tight fists. She forgot – or maybe she didn’t, and she just stopped caring – about the threat by her spine and shoved Jeremiah away roughly, making him fall backwards. “I can’t believe you! _You’re a monster_!”

But it didn’t seem like Jeremiah was listening to her. He only laughed like the madman he is. “Do you feel it, (Y/N)? Do you feel your darkness? Do you? Tell me you do!”

In a flash, she found herself atop Jeremiah. (Y/N) threw punch after punch, focusing all her rage into every strike. She had to have broken his nose, at the very least. The pain in her fists was nothing compared to that twisted feeling of satisfaction. Jeremiah’s blood coated her knuckles, she took pleasure in his muted gasps of pain and the sound of the blows landing. And it felt _so good_.

“There you go, (Y/N)!” choked out Jeremiah as she punched him again. His already banged up face was bleeding and even more bruised. “I know you feel it: our connection, your darkness. Let it consume you, give in to it, join me in this bliss. It’s meant to be! You and I are destined to be side-by-side for all of eternity. Be free- be free like me.”

(Y/N) leaned down, fisting a handful of his jacket, their noses barely brushing against each other. His eyes shone with admiration as they met hers, but he wasn’t expecting her answer. “_No_.”

With that, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling like all her energy had been sucked out of her, and stalked towards the door. Dark blood, already drying, dripped from her fists. (Y/N) left Jeremiah on the floor to go back to Bruce and Alfred, people that risked their lives for her, that cared for her.

Jeremiah’s love was mad and dangerous, but it was love all the same. _Love_. _What a funny word._ You didn’t have to be sane to know this wasn’t over.


	8. Jerome x fem!reader: Like I Remember You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keep falling on a loaded gun  
Tryna be someone for you  
Feeling like the only one  
Tryna find my way to you  
Do you remember me like I remember you?"

(Y/N) has seen horrible things that night at the Boardwalk Circus, from twisted versions of carnival games to brutal murder, but this certainly topped it. Jerome had ordered his cronies to handcuff (Y/N) to a wooden post and pushed her out to display her death.

It made (Y/N) physically sick to her stomach: her boyfriend and the love of her life was about to kill her because he simply didn't remember how she was important in his life post-thaw. Jerome cackled as he jumped off the podium and approached her, the megaphone right in her face. The painfully loud sound of his blaring voice made her ears buzz. "Well, what do ya say, (Y/N)? Shall we end the night with a bang? Or better yet... a boom?"

That riled the crazed fanatics up, and they began chanting "boom, boom, boom!" over and over again as a circus cannon was rolled on stage.

(Y/N) pulled against the handcuffs, feeling the metal cut into her wrists, as Jerome carried a massive cannonball and shoved it inside.

One of his followers handed him a bucket of knives. "Ah, death by a thousand cuts, very poetic. I like it."

(Y/N) glanced to her right in horror as Jerome tipped the blades into the barrel. But (Y/N) was never one to give up, especially when it came to Jerome. Shifting her raised arms, the stinging pain from the staples lodged in her skin gave her an idea. It wasn’t a particularly reliable one, but the only one she had.

As Jerome poured a bucket full of rusty nails into the cannon, (Y/N) eased a staple out of her skin without catching Jerome’s attention. He was too busy addressing his fans about death and murder and freedom from sanity blah blah blah. The usual dramatic monologue (Y/N) expected from him. She wasn’t listening, but it bought her precious time.

It hurt like a bitch, but it worked.

While Jerome chortled and joked with his adoring cult, (Y/N) began straightening the staple. Jerome sounded like he was coming to the volatile conclusion of his show and (Y/N) feared she was running out of time to escape.

"Giddy up! Whoo, doggie!" shouted Jerome as he straddled the cannon. "Yee-haw!"

(Y/N)'s breathing picked up. She had only just managed to bend the wire into shape. No way she'd be able to pick the handcuff's lock in time.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Multiple shots were fired into the air – from a police-issued handgun, no doubt – and the fanatics fell silent. (Y/N) almost dropped the staple in alarm.

"Detective Gordon, you're just in time for the big finish!" Jerome's smile only grew wider and more crazed. He didn’t even sound threatened. "Darling (Y/N) here's gonna go splat!"

Armed uniformed officers poured in from behind the booths. "Nobody move!"

But the cult didn't listen, only sprang at them to attack. The cops were easily overwhelmed, but they had more weapons. The unis fought them off, fists and gunshots flying. Gordon and Bullock joined in, trying to get to (Y/N). Jerome chortled hysterically, as if this was all one big joke to him, struck a match and lit the fuse.

(Y/N) didn't waste any time: she used one hand to shove the staple into the keyhole and jerked it around until she heard a click. Thank God she learned to pick locks! She shook her hand free and started on the last cuff. The fuse just kept getting shorter, the sparks on the tip threatening her life. Although she tried to keep a level head, panic overcame her. It was simply too much pressure. Her heart skipped a beat when the staple slipped from her grasp. With a glance at the cannon, which was now at halfway, she swallowed down a hiss of pain as she ripped the second staple from her arm.

She didn’t have time to straighten it; time wasn’t on her side. Anxiety rose in her chest as she dug the tip of the blood-coated staple into the handcuff's lock again-

With a deafening blast, the cannon fired. It instantly struck the pole (Y/N) had been tied to a literal second ago, tearing it to pieces. Knives and nails were stuck into the charred wood, but (Y/N) lay _alive_ in the sawdust on the stage.

Forcing herself to her feet, she made a beeline for the House of Mirrors.  
\---  
Jerome knew his murder-by-cannon plan didn’t work and that (Y/N) was still alive. Of course, a part of him was disappointed, but the insane side of him decided killing her personally would be a lot more fun. Despite the bloodshed around him, Jerome wandered casually through the battlegrounds of the Boardwalk Circus calling her name. There was no way she'd get away if he could help it.

His eyes lit up when he saw a familiar (H/C) haired figure disappear into the Mirror Maze. He grinned, drawing out his pistol, and followed her.

As Jerome walked through the maze, several of him were reflected in the mirrors. (Y/N) was out of sight, but she had a plan, one last attempt to get Jerome to remember her. That was the only way she’d be able to get out of this nightmare in one piece.

"You ruined my show, (Y/N)," said Jerome, almost in a sing-song voice. He didn't sound angry, more like her escape made his night. "Hiding isn't going to make it better."

"I'm not hiding, Jerome. You don't scare me enough."

BANG! A gunshot shattered a mirror, a few corridors away from where (Y/N) was.

"_Aww_," drawled Jerome, with an edge of dramatic mocking. The gun clicked as he reloaded it again. "I don't? Why don't you come out then, and we can have some real fun~?”

(Y/N) said nothing in fear of giving away her location, holding her breath as Jerome crept past the dead-end she was crouched in. She meant what she said; (Y/N) wasn’t afraid of him. But it wasn’t her time to die yet, not until she tried just one more time.

"I have to tell ya, this is a lot more fun. You know, the two of us make a pretty good team."

"You still don't remember, do you?" Multiple of (Y/N)'s reflections darted past, and Jerome shot in her direction. He missed again, shattering another mirror.

"What's to remember?" (Y/N) could hear the smile in his words, unwillingly picturing the cold distorted smirk carved into his face. Despite the evil and murder Jerome had caused, she still loved him. How could she, after all he’d done? (Y/N) didn’t know, but her heart throbbed for him and for old times when he’d speak to her with nothing but love and adoration.

"You don't remember! I tried to be someone for you, I did, Jerome-"

"Ughhhh, this is boring. And there's nothing worse than someone boring," said Jerome, his voice sounding both disturbingly close and far away. (Y/N) wasn’t sure which she was hoping for, or which she’d rather at that moment. "Tell ya what, I'll give you a fighting chance."

(Y/N) moved as he spoke, silently maneuvering the maze to get in a corridor behind her ex-boyfriend as he set his gun down on the floor. He backed away, scanning the mirrors surrounding him for the (H/C) haired girl. She was out of sight, a hand clamped over her mouth and nose, and kept as silent as she could manage. 

"C'mon out, (Y/N),” said Jerome. “Let's finish this mano a mano, my little conquistador..."

That's when (Y/N) lunged, knocking Jerome to the ground.

He let out a surprised yell. "What type of hero tackles from behind?!" He tried crawling away from her, sending a sharp kick her way, catching (Y/N) right in the cheek.

She recoiled, ignoring the stinging pain, but grabbed the silver pistol Jerome had put down for her. She managed to drag herself away. Her hands shook as she aimed it at Jerome, getting unsteadily to her feet.

"I don't want to hurt you, Jerome." The barrel was trained on his chest, right over his heart, and her finger ghosted the trigger.

"And why is that, hm?” Jerome's abnormal grin somehow grew wider. He put his hands up in surrender, standing up. There was very little space between them, the gun a mere metre from his chest, “‘Cause you can’t, right? I bet you’ve never killed someone before. I bet you won’t even kill me, even though the opportunity is right in front of you, will you, _(Y/N)_?”

The way he said her name made her knees weak, and the gun dipped. There was no way in the world she’d be able to shoot him.

Jerome saw his chance and pounced, using one hand to ram the barrel of the gun away from him and the other to seize (Y/N)’s arm. No gunshot, no nothing, she didn’t even have her finger on the trigger. He moved so quickly that (Y/N) couldn’t react and, next thing she knew, she was pulled flush against his hard chest and the pistol was wrestled from her grasp and held to her head. (Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat, a lump forming. 

Her breath staggered as she gripped Jerome’s wrist, but he was much too strong.

“So, where were we?” hummed Jerome, his hot breath on the outer shell of her ear. He pressed the gun a little harder into (Y/N)’s temple, the cold barrel almost cutting into her skin. “Right! I was about to kill ya.”

In an act of desperate defiance, (Y/N) shoved all her body weight backward. It was enough to get them both moving. Jerome was taken by surprise and, thankfully, didn’t pull the trigger on her. Jerome’s back slammed against a mirror wall, shattering it with impact, and the surprise of it slackened his grip on both (Y/N) and the gun. She seized her opportunity.

Spinning around, she pinned Jerome against the cracked glass with her arm pressed hard against his windpipe. Still, Jerome was gasping out his laughter. His amusement of her reaction. Their faces were mere inches apart, and (Y/N)-

did the only thing she could think of. One last effort to get Jerome, the love of her life, back.

She lunged forward and _kissed him_, right on the lips. Soft lips against his scarred, distorted, chapped ones. Hard, messy and with everything she had, as if he’d be ripped from her grasp at any second. She kissed like her life depended on it, because it did. Heat bloomed in her chest, feeling a little like love. The world felt like it was spinning, Jerome’s lips were the only thing holding her down. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel one-sided, like (Y/N) feared to expect.

When (Y/N) pulled away, it was hesitantly that she looked into Jerome’s eyes. She wasn’t sure what to expect: anger, surprise, disgust, confusion, _love_?

She searched his eyes for any form of emotion but found nothing. (Y/N) dropped her arm from Jerome’s body and let it fall to her side, never once breaking eye contact. “Do you remember me like I remember you?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

He didn’t answer. He had no reply, no cocky comment, no cruel words. For once, it seemed he had nothing to say. After when seemed like forever, Jerome lifted his hand to (Y/N)’s neck. She tensed, heartbeat pounding in her ears, but didn’t try to stop him. If he strangled her, so be it. (Y/N)’s emotions clouded her common sense too much. _Do you see what you do to me, Jerome?_

(Y/N) didn’t want to fight against him anymore. She didn’t want to live as his enemy, even if it meant Jerome would be the one taking her life. It was really her last stand.

But he didn’t. His hand traced up the smooth expanse of her neck, cupping her cheek with a gentleness (Y/N) hadn’t seen from him in a long time. A gentleness she had been craving. He tilted his head to the side, a familiar look blooming in his eyes. Hope pooled in her core, exploding into warmth and relief as Jerome leaned in and kissed her.

_It worked_.


	9. Jeremiah x fem!reader: hey little girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey little girl  
You'll never believe  
There's a ghost inside of you  
But it's hidden too deep  
Hey little girl  
You'll never imagine  
You get a little older  
You'll get abandoned"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT A ROMANCE ONESHOT. Reader is the twins' little sister!!

“Be gentle with me, boys, I’m delicate,” said (Y/N) as the Arkham guards handcuffed her to the cold metal table in the visitation block. She giggled, rather manically, at her own words. “Say, wanna tell me who I gotta thank for seeing little ol’ me?”

They said nothing and rushed out fairly quick, much to (Y/N)’s amusement.

It was obvious they were afraid of her, the little pussies. So she wreaked some havoc Gotham with her big brother, Jerome, and the Maniax. So she dismembered a couple of civilians. So she was a _little_ kooky in the head. Was that really enough reason to make them refuse to look her in the eye, or avoid being in a room with her? The thought made her smile.

She waited, drumming her fingers on the table, and hummed the _Pop Goes The Weasel _tune quite loudly until she heard the distinct buzzer of the reinforced door opening.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” (Y/N) let her lips pull up into a wide, all tooth grin as her eyes narrowed on the sight at the door. “Hiya, big bro.”

Before her stood (Y/N)’s other older brother, Jeremiah. It was freaky how much he looked like Jerome, despite the obvious differences. Redheaded, sickly pale, tall, nerdy scarless, and just as handsome as Jerome used to be. He looked skittish and feeble like he was having second thoughts about seeing her. His hands were even shaking!

“(Y/N),” he said. “I came as soon as I heard.”

She leaned closer, (E/C) eyes never leaving her brother. “Huh. Heard what, exactly?”

“That you were in Arkham.” Jeremiah took the seat opposite (Y/N), in a way that seemed like he didn’t want to startle her. As if the scrawny brat could. “(Y/N), I-I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I was when the authorities finally got you away from Jerome. Watching that bastard manipulate you into doing these ghastly things was the closest thing I’ve been to hell since we lived with him.”

“He manipulated me, hm? That’s what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

(Y/N)’s smile flickered into something dark and threatening, something to be feared. The voices in her head screamed their gruesome inputs, suggestions and curses at her. She mentally noted that she'd add some fun ideas to her diary once this visit was over. “I’ll have you know, four-eyes, that all the iddy-biddy things I did were _my_ choice. The knife I stuck in that guy’s eye? My choice. All those cops I shot? My choice. That couple I craved up? My choice. Every other fucked up thing I did? Well, take a wild guess, _Xander_.”

The reaction (Y/N) got from Jeremiah wasn’t expected: he seemed unfazed. If anything, he looked at her with a gaze of pity and… love. She tried to infuriate him, but he kept that stupid, calm expression on his face. God, she wanted to slap it right off.

“You’re sick, (Y/N). But it’s going to be okay,” Jeremiah told her, his voice tremoring. “This place, as much as I detest it, will fix you. I’m going to spend everything I can on your recovery.”

“Funny choice of words you got there. _Fix? Recovery?_” She barked out a harsh laugh. “They’ve tried this kinda stuff already, Miah! _My_ adoptive parents were the reason I resorted to smoking and drugs and violence in the first place. Betcha didn’t know that. I’ve been in and out of recovery more times than I cared to count.

“I know I’m broken, a bit messed up in the head. I always have been, even before we got taken away from Mom and Jerome and the circus. Some of my most treasured memories are the times I sat in front of the mirror, thinking to myself ‘What would happen if I slit Momsie’s throat in her slutty sleep?’. At times I could hardly breathe. But then I realised… this is only natural. For me, for us, it's natural. The Valeska family’s natural. Y’know, we all have ghosts, hidden too deep. Jerome pushed me to dragging mine out to play, like I needed to, now I fully embrace it.”

“There are explanations as to why you feel this way, (Y/N). Your psychiatrist told me you mentioned a kidnapping, Jerome could have…” Jeremiah visibly shuddered, swallowing before continuing. “…performed several evil endeavors on you. Similar to that of Stockholm Syndrome or-or Lima Syndrome or brainwashing. Time here will help–”

“It’s cute how you’re acting like you care. You just feel guilty.”

“I do care, (Y/N). I care very much. Whether or not you know it, it's true. You’re my sister and I love you,” said Jeremiah. He sighed, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I had refused to go with that family. You should have come with me, and I should have fought for that to happen. I failed you then like I failed you now, but I’m working to make it right.”

(Y/N)’s lips pressed together in a thin line as her whole body shook with silent laughter. She eventually let it out, her crazed cackling filling the room as if Jeremiah had just told a hilarious joke instead of a heartfelt sediment.

“Oh, Miah… The only person that’s done right by me is Jerome, and Jerome alone. He showed me the truth: that sanity was keeping my true self locked away. Keeping me a cog in the machine of society. But I’m free now, just like Jerome.”

“You’re _sick, _just like Jerome. But like I said, Arkham is going to fix you.”

“But there’s nothing to fix, Jeremiah! Can’t you see?” (Y/N) laughed like a maniac again, raking her hands through (H/C) hair. She heard Jerome in the way she laughed, and that encouraged her. “You’ll understand one day. Surely you don't think it's merely a coincidence that me and Jerome are bat-shit nuts. It’s in your blood! I just can’t wait for you to see it too, that there’s nothing wrong with being a little cray-cray.”

“(Y/N), please…” The little redheaded bitch sounded close to tears.

“There will always be a Valeska bringing chaos to Gotham, Jeremiah. Whether it be Jerome or me-” (Y/N)’s smile widened a little more, “-or you. We’re here to stay! Oh, and don’t worry about the money. It’s mighty generous of you, but I won’t be here long enough for them to use it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for updates!


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